


do you remember the girl made of honey and glass?

by andromedaas



Series: does anyone flinch when you take off your clothes? [3]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, grief never chooses a clear road
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29402790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedaas/pseuds/andromedaas
Summary: Lilith spends her mornings entangled with the Zelda, with nicotine soaked kisses and whiskey stained moans, whatever is happening between them unspoken, unsullied, bursting at the seams.Lilith sips her coffee on the porch overlooking the cemetery and waits for the other shoe to drop.(zelda will leave, everyone does in the end)
Relationships: Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Series: does anyone flinch when you take off your clothes? [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143197
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	do you remember the girl made of honey and glass?

**Author's Note:**

> this was a thought and then another thought and now this is where we are  
> oops  
> (lil bit of eve for caity, as a treat)

_I could get used to this_ she thinks, _I could get used waking up entangled, intertwined, not knowing the beginning or the end._

And she does, she learns what little touches of kindness are, how all of the pain she’s felt, she’s endured, how all of it led her to this moment in time where it’s just her and them and all she knows, for one blissful second, is peace.

She closes her eyes on the porch, warm mug of coffee in her hands and inhales the smell of stale cigarette smoke, waiting for something to happen.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

-

She learns the intricacies of Zelda Spellman: learns that she likes smoking with her holder but late at night she holds a cigarette between her fingers and exchange long drags with lazy kisses, learns that she takes her coffee with a splash of whiskey in the mornings after her nightmares, learns that she will wake up screaming Sabrina’s name with magic crackling through the air, a storm come to life.

She learns that her favourite way to hear her name is whispered through Zelda’s clenched teeth as she balances somewhere between heaven and hell.

Zelda screaming _Lilith_ after just one too many, when she’s sensitive and overpowered and on the brink of pulling away comes a close second.

Lilith spends her mornings entangled with the Zelda, with nicotine soaked kisses and whiskey stained moans, whatever is happening between them unspoken, unsullied, bursting at the seams.

Lilith sips her coffee on the porch overlooking the cemetery and waits for the other shoe to drop.

-

They don’t discuss this, whatever is occurring. They don’t discuss feelings or motives or plans for the future. Somedays, most days, Lilith is reminded of a different time with a different face and the same sharp tongue muttering incantations under her breath in Hebrew spun with Latin.

She is reminded of a whisper of _Lilit_ and _Witchling_ and a face as old as time with all of her pain reflected back to her.

She swallows a bitter pill and forces the face beneath the surface of the lake in her mind, watching as it drowns in the ripples, a silent scream ringing across the shore.

Zelda has a place in her memory know, replacing the beautiful creature with desert spun skin and eyes the colour of mud. Her moans play through her mind like a scratchy record in the corner of Dorian’s bar.

She remembers a voice made of honey and glass, a gaunt figure in sheer robes clutching at her head murmuring _if I can’t get in, he can’t get in Lilit, and if he can’t get in he can never hurt you_ and Lilith… Lilith remembers petals edged with blades ripping through her skull, her memories, diving beneath the lake and sorting through the bookshelves she keeps underwater. Lilith remembers a friend, a lover, an enemy grasping at her head as she meticulously tore through her mind, finding a weakness in her defences.

There’s a mug of coffee in her hands now, the scent of nicotine and cloves lingering in the back of her throat, and she is different than when she met Eve of the Garden, Eve in the desert, Eve who taught her to arrange her mind into a library, carefully categorising each book on the shelf. Lilith remembers Eve’s petals, sharp and painful tearing through her mind, she remembers Lucifer’s spikes and chains, smashing through her mind with brutal force. She remembers the nose bleed, the blood dripping down her chin, splashing on the sandy dunes.

Zelda walks out onto the porch and replaces the now empty mug in Lilth’s hands with a soft smile, the barely there brush of lips across her temple and Lilith struggles so much not to shatter and break and lash out.

Zelda is not Eve, she is not picking up the pieces that Lucifer left behind when he shredded her skull. Zelda is not Eve. Eve who was made of honey and glass, who stuck to her tongue like sticky sweet ash. She knows, deep down inside her, that no one flinched when they took of Eve’s clothes to worship her. Lilith wants to know if Eve ever sat in the garden and questioned every decision she made, ever wondered if she was enough. She knows that it’s not Eve’s fault, back then and now as she sits on the porch watching the rain fall. Even know, after all that time, Eve’s smile burned in her memory makes it hard to be mad. She remembers Eve’s taste, burnt sugar and a little bit of rum.

Zelda is not Eve.

She remembers the first time she dived into Zelda’s memories, remembers where the neatly organised bookshelves in her mind gave way to a locked chest in a maze.

She knows that somewhere, someone flinched once when they saw the scars. Lilith wishes she could have been there, watched the life drain out of his eyes as she ripped out her heart and gobbled up the muscle pulsing in her hands.

Zelda is not Eve.

Zelda makes her coffee in the morning with a little bit of cream and kiss on her forehead and Lilith traces her tongue through all of Zelda’s scars.

Eve was down to earth, running her fingers through the mud and dancing in the rain, drenched to the bone.

Zelda is not Eve.

Lilith sips her coffee, looks out over the cemetery, and locks up the library in her mind. Zelda’s arm is around her waist and her head on Lilith’s shoulder and for the first time since she left Eve in the garden and wandered throughout the desert Lilith doesn’t question if she is enough.

-

There’s a scar on Zelda’s hip bone that looks like a supernova. There’s a constellation of freckles on her shoulder that Lilith traces with her tongue, leisurely pumping three fingers in and out as she draws silky figure eights down her stomach.

She wonders what Zelda would do if she tells her about Eve. Wonders if the tome in her library filled with touches and whispers and the taste of Zelda’s cunt that lets out whisps of nicotine scented smoke dissolve the first time Lilith brings Eve up. The girl in the desert made of honey and glass who stuck to Lilith’s tongue like sticky sweet ash and tasted like burnt sugar and rum.

Lilith buries those thoughts in the recesses of her mind and focuses on Zelda, on her taste, the delightful little mewls she emits when she’s close, the way her fingers tangle in Lilith’s hair, the way she screams Lilith’s name.

Eve was buried in Lilith’s library a long long time ago and now…

Now there’s a statue to Sabrina at the forefront of her mind and an alter to Zelda in the background and Lilith builds up her bookshelves and remembers petals laced with blade and the taste of ash in her mouth.

-

“Tell me something?” Zelda says one night, sweat drying on her skin, fingers ghosting down Lilith’s back. “Tell me something that you’re afraid of? Tell me something that if you think you let into the light I will leave?”

Lilith throws open the doors to her library, walks down the aisles of her memory, pacing through the shelves until she finds the book. It’s a simple leather bound cover and the only word on the front was Eve. She sighs.

“There was someone I knew,” she starts. “A woman. She was made of honey and glass.”

Zelda doesn’t leave after that. She stays, intertwined with Lilith, helping her empty her mind with the barely there touch of lips on her temple.

The other shoe drops to the floor, unnoticed.


End file.
